Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 5, 1928 — page 87: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

RED yet the bad chef does not hesitate to essay it, and the steward of the anony- mous oil barge was not a cordon bleu. With much gagging the prisoners managed to consume a portion of the mess, which seemed to have been com- posed of whatever happened to be lying around the ship’s galley, and managed to take the edge off their appetites. “Now for a pleasant evening at home,” grimaced Chipmunk when they had set the dippers down. “ Will you have something on the radio or do you prefer a phonograph record?” “Oh, dry up,’ growled his friend. “There is a time for airy chatter, and a time for serious thinking. How are we going to get out of here?” “That's an easy rebus. We aren't going to get out. Considering that this is the first time Pve been locked up, they ought to have started me on an easier jail. “We can’t saw the bars on the win- dow because there isn’t a window; so, of course, there are no bars. We can’t overpower the simple jailer who brings in our grub, because he just opens the door, sets it on the top step, and locks the door before we can get at him. This is against all the rules.” “ What rules?” “The rules for imprisoning inno- cent men. ‘There is always a way of escape.” : “Oh, dry up,” pleaded Les. ‘“Maybe you'd prefer solitary con- finement,” Arthur sniffed. “Locking a fellow up with a funny man comes under the head of cruel and unusual punishment.” “ All right, Groucho.” Chipmunk squatted on a campstool, and for awhile he was silent. Then he began to empty his pockets, drew out his half of the day’s receipts, kissed it ostentatiously, and thrust it back in his trousers. Presently he reached his _ vest pockets and produced a tiny silver ball. “What the deuce—oh, yes. Say, Les. What would you say this was?” HOT. 653 “ How do I know?” snapped Lester whose humor was still bad. “ You'd never imagine that molecule was worth a couple of dollars.”’ “T would not.” “Tt is. That, young man, is a piece of platinum.” “Platinum? Where did you get it?” “Found it on our counter. Can’t imagine how it came there.” ““Let’s see it.”” Lester took it be- tween thumb and forefinger and ex- amined it. “How do you know it’s platinum?” he demanded. “The agent of the building saw it on the counter. He recognized it be- cause there's a platinum jewelry manu- facturer in the building, so he told me, on the second floor, right over us.” “Yes?” Lester was indifferent; but suddenly his eyes gleamed, and he struck his thigh a resounding whack. “By heavens!’ he exclaimed. “ I'll bet. So that’s it.” “He talks riddles,’ complained Chipmunk. But Lester was excited. “You remember that fellow who asked us about our lease last Saturday night? We didn’t have one, but we didn’t tell him. I told you, or maybe { forgot to, that after you left and I was locking up, a tramp I happen to know tipped me off that the man was a crook, one of a quartet who were plotting something. The hobo blun- dered in on them and got beaten up.” “What of it?” “This morning somebody tried to lease the place over our heads and would have done it if the agent hadn’t been a square shooter. He was a hard- looking ticket! I bet he was a crook.” ““ So was Jesse James. What of it?” “Those fellows want our place very badly. Why?” “[ was never any good on intelli- gence tests,’ complained Colter. “Chipmunk, I know why we were kidnaped.” “ Well, tell papa.” COM|ClOOOL< (F@)